


The Hunt

by Amymel86



Series: The Wolves of Winterfell [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, F/M, Smut, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Addition to my Wolves of Winterfell fic from Halloween 2016.Jon is in his first year as Winterfell's Alpha.





	1. The Alpha's Mate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tigerlily17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigerlily17/gifts).



> Heeeeey!
> 
> Remember this one??

The whispers, sniggers and teasing are still difficult for Sansa to forget, even now - three moons since she first went into heat, since Jon had claimed her for his mate, since the whole castle learnt of Jon's true birth....and three moons since she'd wed him beneath the Heart Tree.

But whispers, sniggers and teasing there most definetly was, after they had both emerged from her chambers, eight days since they'd entered them, sporting all manners of scratches, bite marks and red faces.

_"Gods! They even smell like coupling!" She overheared one serving girl titter to another before they both descended into fits of giggles. Sansa's cheeks flamed, her arm looped through Jon's as they made their way to the Great Hall to sup with others for the first time in days._

_"Do we?!" she hissed urgently in Jon's ear, pulling him to a halt in the hallway._

_"'Do we' what?"_

_"Smell like coupling?!"_

_Jon raised an eyebrow and leant in to sniff at the hairline behind her ear. He let lose a low growl and walked Sansa back against the stone wall with his hands firmly on her waist. "Well it is all we've been doing for more than the past sennight" he rumbled into her skin as he began licking and nipping at her neck, his hips pinning her against the wall._

_"Jon" she whimpered, almost forgetting that they had, in fact, been on their way somewhere and that he was currently grinding his hardness up against her in a very public place. "Jon...mmm....we should really, oh-...Gods!" Sansa groaned as he had tugged on her bodice, freeing a nipple to peek over the top of the garment and was now enveloped in her husband's warm wet mouth. She gripped his hair tightly and started moving her hips in time with his, falling into that familiar rhythm that they'd learnt together._

Sansa squirmed on her padded stool in front of her vanity chest as Gloria fussed with her hair. The memory of Jon pulling her into a dark alcove with only a threadbare ancient tapestry to shield them from any passers by - she was sure that if anyone cared to notice, they would have seen Jon's breeches around his ankles as he bounced her up the stone wall, the depiction of running wolves barely skimming his calves.

Three moons had come and gone since that first morning they appeared from her chambers, hand in hand as husband and wife - Alpha and Omega. Sansa oft turns as red as a raspberry when the memory of greeting her family in the Great Hall the very first morning too. Father had been polite but found it difficult to look his daughter in the eye. Mother, Robb and Arya had acted as though their tongues had been cut and they were incapable of focusing on anything but their buttered bread. Sansa remembers fussing with her hair at the table, fretting over any visible marks Jon had gifted her neck.

It had been that morning that Father had declared he was to ride for King's Landing. News of Jon's true parentage would be travelling fast throughout the packs of the Seven Kingdoms, it would not be long til it reached the ears of the very man that the lie was intended to fool. Sansa's Father intended to ride south and bare all to his King and friend, relaying that Jon nor any of his future brood hold any interest in ever leaving the north to claim the crown. He hoped that time had softened Robert's views on the matter.

It hadn't been but a week later that the remainder of the family had decided to travel south with Ned.  _"Maybe when we return you two will have learnt to be quieter"_  Robb had griped with a lip curled in disgust, Arya rolled her eyes,  _"or else I'm moving rooms!"_

And so, not long into Jon's first year of being Winterfell's Alpha, he was left without the guidance of his predecessor.

* * *

 

A rather un-ladylike groan escaped from Sansa's throat when Jon pushed inside her. The morning light shone through the gap in her heavy velvet curtains, the beam branding up and down the muscles in Jon's arm, shoulder and neck as he lay between her legs. Sansa nipped at his bottom lip, pulling a growl from her husband before his mouth travelled down her jaw to her ear as he ground his pelvis in slow circles, pressing and rubbing against her pearl.

"Come and hunt with me today" he rasped.

"I....mmmm...I haven't been on a-a...hunt for-  _oh Gods!_  - n..nearly two years" Sansa whined, enjoying Jon's movements.

"It will excite you."

" _You_  excite me."

"I know" Jon slowly reared up to grin down at her beneath him. He pulled out and pushed forcefully back inside of her, the slap of his flesh on hers punctuating each word "always...so...wet... _unnhh_...for me _."_ Sansa's eyes fluttered closed.

"Always" she breathed as she felt her cheeks grow hot. Jon leant back down and began sucking, nipping and laving his tongue over the soft skin of her throat.

There was an abrupt knock on the door. Jon continued his slow thrusting as he growled out a low warning noise from deep within his chest. "Lady Sansa?" came the voice of Gloria, Sansa's handmaid.

"I'm...." Sansa gasped when Jon shifted, increasing the pressure on her sensitive nub. She felt him grin into the skin of her neck. "I'm...a little.... _indisposed_  at the moment Gloria!" Sansa called.

There was a pause from behind the door, "very well, my lady....I shall return later".

Jon huffed and began quickening his pace and rhythm. "Why must I share you?" 

"They left us well alone f-...f-  _mmmm_....for a time after we w-wed" Sansa commented, thoroughly distracted by the sensations of Jon's movements.

"Perhaps we should wed again."

Sansa giggled. "There is a world beyond that which lies between my legs, Jon" she teased.

"Not one worth knowing, my sweet girl" he whispered into her ear, his lips brushing her lobe, making her shiver with pleasure. "Come hunt with me today. I want to see you in your wolf skin" Jon murmured as his hips rocked into her "I want to see you run and chase and kill." Sansa sighed and tilted her head to give Jon more access to her neck, her own pelvis moving in time with his as Jon picked up the tempo of his thrusts. "I want to see my high born lady shift back into her true form, naked as her name day, skin covered in sweat and dirt and evidence of her inner predator..."

Sansa sucked in a breath as her husband's words tickled the skin below her ear.  _"Jon"_  she moaned breathily, eyes still closed and mouth slack. Jon's hips began to snap, jostling her up the bed.

"I want to see your pretty teats pucker in the cold air, I want to  _fuck_  you out in the open of the Wolf's Wood, make you scream loud enough so that even those in Castle Cerwyn know that you're mine."

Jon bit down on the juncture where her shoulder met her neck as he started to relentlessly pound into her. The room filled with grunts wet and noises of obscenity.

"A-a Lady sh-....shouldn't...shouldn't.... _unnngh JON!"_

 _"My_  Lady will" Jon growled biting down hard as Sansa clawed at his back.

"Oh! Yes! Oh _GODS!"_  she panted, her hips bucking up in time with his until she went rigid, her head pressed back into the soft feather pillow, lips framing a silent scream and her eyes screwed shut. Jon followed soon after, tensing as he grunted against her throat, his seed pulsing inside her as she rocked her hips slowly against him, her fingers playing with his hair.

The peak of their pleasures slowly subsided, drifting away like a feather on a breeze as they panted together. Jon lapped soothingly at the bite mark he'd given, his pelvis still performing a delicious slow grind against her. "Come with me today. We can lose the rest of the hunting party and run together, just you and me - no other pack members."

"Mother said-"

"Your Mother is not here."

"But I-"

"Are you really going to refuse your Alpha?" Jon asked, rearing up to grin down at her with one raised brow. Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes.

* * *

 

Sansa stared a little guiltily at the reflection of her handmaiden in the mirror. Gloria was stood behind her, tutting to herself as she tenderly stroked the cherry red bite marks standing out on the alabaster skin of her Lady's neck. She watched her friend frown at herself as her forefinger traced the angry-looking markings that Jon had left.

"They don't hurt" she offered. Gloria gave a tight-lipped smile in response.

"Of course not my lady."

Sansa continued to watch her friend as she busied herself, opening the little drawers of her vanity table, laying out her boar bristle brush, ivory comb and various ribbons and such for her hair. The markings caught her eye again and Gloria paused. "Do you.....would you like some ointment for the marks, my lady?"

Sansa shook her head. Apart from the addition of lavender oil to her bath, Sansa had lessened the amount of fragrances she used on her skin. Jon liked her natural scent, it caused his eyes to darken and his voice to lower - even making his manhood swell once he got close enough to scent her properly. She didn't want some strong foreign scent on her - even one so sweet as marjoram oil. Gloria nodded and began seeing to Sansa's hair. 

Things had been a little strained between Sansa and her handmaiden as of late. Ever since the truth about Jon had been announced and he'd claimed her as his mate. Sansa wondered if it was because she was the Omega now? Although, always respectful of boundaries, Gloria had not taken any differences in rank to heart before. Sansa wondered if she still could not bend her mind around Jon no longer being her sibling - half or not. Whatever it was, Sansa dearly wished that 'it' wasn't there. She wanted to share things with her again. She wanted to laugh and smile and jest with her friend - not sit in awkwardness pondering upon what the other girl was thinking.

"What should you like to wear today my lady?" Gloria asks, breaking the stream of thought trickling through Sansa's mind.

"I......I shan't need to dress today. I'll break my fast here and....and then I am to hunt with Jon."

Gloria's ministrations with her hair paused and Sansa could practically hear her the thoughts echoing around in her friend's head.

_Your Lady Mother would not approve!_

Sansa shifted on her padded stool.

_Well my Lady Mother is not here and I'm the Omega now. I'll do as I please!_

* * *

 

The hunting party usually shifted into their wolf skins once they'd reached the Wolf's Wood hunting grounds, but as Sansa would be joining them, Jon had asked that the pack shift before leaving the castle - he was not about to let anyone see his mate in a state of undress before she changed form. And so he disrobed and shed his human form in his chambers before heading down to the courtyard to meet with the other members of the small hunting party.

It felt good to be the wolf again. His body hadn't realised just how much he had missed it. It has been over a two moons since he's shifted and led a hunt. He was eager to stretch his running legs and give chase to something -  _anything._

It was a small hunt today. There were only three males and two females waiting for him in the courtyard. Jon knew them all by scent - the butcher's two boys, two serving girls and the orphaned lad from the smithy. He gave them all a sniff in greeting as they bowed their head to their Alpha. Losing them in favour of being alone with Sansa should be an easy feat.

Jon paced his great white paws around the courtyard. Nobody paying his beast form any attention bar the rest of the hunting party. They sensed his restlessness and yapped and nipped at each other - eager to escape the confines of the ancient castle walls.

He caught the scent of her before he saw her, sweet and tempting. Sansa came trotting out to greet him, in her wolf skin, beautiful and elegant, with soft fur tinged with the slightest hint of copper. She nosed as his muzzle, yipped and licked as her tail wagged happily. Jon proceeded to circle her, wanting to scent her completely. He let out a low rumbling growl as the thought of mounting her raced through his mind. Although not unheard of for mated pairs to couple in their wolf skins, it was somewhat of a taboo subject kept to the participants themselves - not something to be engaged in in the middle of a busy courtyard. 

Jon nipped at her scruff briefly before huffing. Sansa turned and butted the flat of her head to his side. He wondered if she knew his thoughts.

The hunt moved out to the wood and what started off as a leisurely trot, soon turned into the pack catching the scent of something in the air. They all raced together with Jon leading them. Sansa had turned out to be faster than he expected - all throughout, she was by his side, keeping up with the frenzied pace of thundering paws on forest ground. He smelt the excitement of the chase on her as she stuck to his heels, exhilaration rolling off of her with every bound. 

Jon was in two minds. He could tell that the kill would be something large - a stag or perhaps an elk. He would dearly love for Sansa to be part of claiming that kill, but he also wanted her.  _Oh, how he wanted her!_  He wondered if she would let him mount her in their wolf forms?

The scent was stronger now - they were close, and by the smell of it, there was more than one beast ahead of them. Jon made a decision and began to slow his pace, letting the heady scent of their promised kill pull the rest of the pack forward until they had overtaken him. Sansa stayed by his side as he near enough came to a stop and reared back to her, pressing his nose to her fur and scenting her all over again. The remainder of the hunt disappeared between the trees without them.

He slung one large paw over her back. Sansa whined and turned to look at him, a questioning expression to her yellow eyes. He answered her with a rumble from his chest. There was a distant clash of snarling followed by a howl and Jon surmised that the pack had found their kill. Sansa's ear swivelled in the direction of the hunt before she yapped playfully and bounded off in the opposite direction. Looking back over her shoulder to check that Jon was following, Sansa burst into life, really stretched her running muscles to dash off ahead into the trees.

Jon gave chase, darting this way and that after his wife. He panted after her, knowing that he could reach her if he put all his energy to use - but in truth, the pursuit stirred something in him, so for now, he would let her run. So she ran, and she ran, and she ran, weaving in and out of the forest, swift paws pounding lightly on the dead pine needles underfoot. He took no notice of the scenery around them or the scents that dashed by. It was like Jon had tunnel vision and all he could see and smell and hear was Sansa in front of him.

He almost bounded straight into her when she had come to a sudden stop before him, both their paws skidding, kicking up forest floor debris. Sansa whimpered, her ears flattened back in fear as she retreated a couple of steps. That was when Jon noticed.

A wolf was before them. Not a member of their pack. Jon lowered his head, his hackles raised as he stalked forward in front of his mate with a loud warning growl. The other wolf, light grey in fur did not react, his eyes flit between Jon's great white wolf form and Sansa, skittishly pawing at the dirt, looking for all the world like she wanted to flee. Jon heard her whine and whimper again, as she signalled her desire to bolt.

Jon neared the unknown wolf slowly, feeling saliva drip from his muzzle as he snarled a warning at the stranger.  _Who was he? Why was he on his pack's land? Why was he not showing any signs of submitting when Jon was clearly the Alpha?_  And then he caught it - the scent.

This wolf was an Alpha too.

 


	2. Heat of the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if 'Stella has got her groove back' or whatnot but here...I hope you like this short chapter!

This was not good. Not good at all. Sansa whined and whimpered and clawed at the earth beneath her paws. Every fibre of her being wanted to flee back to the safety of the castle, every muscle in her wolf form was coiled tightly, ready to spring into action. But Jon was not moving and she would _never_ leave her alpha.

 _Who is this other alpha? What is he doing here?_ She wondered as she paced restlessly behind Jon. His huge white wolf body radiating with anger and a sense of protectiveness so severe, she's sure that he would not back down. His hackles were raised as he licked at his snarling lips, his muzzle curled back in warning. Jon placed one paw in front of the other, taking a single step towards the unknown alpha. A glob of his saliva dripped onto the forest floor.

The other alpha did nothing but regard them both with cool interest. The language of the wolf decreed that he should either display submissively or prepare to attack Jon and possibly take over the ruling of his pack. The thought made Sansa's stomach swoop and her chest ache keenly. A pack take over was a rare thing throughout Westeros, and even then, to show up unannounced in an ambush attack was practically unheard of.

The alpha eyed Sansa, her skin prickling under his unaffected scrutiny. It was then that she realised it, the unease in her belly, the ripples under her skin, the dull throb of her sex. She was going into heat again. She stilled in shock at the realisation as the intruding male lifted his head and sniffed at the air before taking one single step forward - his first movement since they'd caught sight of him. Jon's answering guttural growl gave the alpha pause, he threw a glance at Jon before his green eyes landed on Sansa once more. He scented the air again.

Sansa had never felt such an acute need to flee before. Not like this. And yet her limbs were frozen stiff to the spot.

 _What is happening? Why am I in heat again? Is it the other alpha?_ Shame flooded her veins. _No! I am bound, I am claimed, I am Jon's!_ Sansa noticed her mate stiffen then - as if his frame was not already wound as tight as a bow string. He raised his head and scented the air, much like the other alpha. The moment he turned to look her in the eye made her heart shatter into a million razor sharp pieces. _I am yours_ , she wanted to scream, _I am yours! I am yours!_ It was too late though, he'd caught the scent of her heat on the air, the painful fear in his eyes like a knife to her gut.

The other alpha took another step forward, causing Jon to whip his head back in the male wolf's direction and snap his jaws threateningly. Jon resumed stalking forwards, his head bent low and his huge shoulder blades sawing up and down with his every menacing step. Sansa whined again. She had no choice, she would much rather run and run and run but she could not _-would not-_ leave her alpha. So she too, began to slowly gain on the intruder, her fur stood on end, her head bent low and her ears pinned back as the unknown male continued to calmly watch.

 _We have the advantage,_ she thought, _two of us._ _You will not take my mate from me,_ she snarled, her lips curling back to bare her sharp teeth. _If I can distract you then perhaps you'll leave your throat unguarded and Jon can-_

Two more wolves stepped out from the foliage, not but fifteen paces from their alpha. They were both large males, one dark grey and the other almost black. They walked forwards silently, as calmly as the alpha who had been watching them all this time. Sansa's heart raced. She raised her head and whimpered in her throat, begging for Jon to back off. _Come, flee with me! We need to get back to the castle, we can't take them on!_ Jon stayed still, a terrifying rumble bursting from his chest making the two new wolves pause - but then four more appeared.

* * *

They'd raced and raced and raced to get back to the safety of Winterfell's gates. As soon as Jon had conceded and turned tail, Sansa had not looked back to see if the other pack was giving chase as her paws thundered against the dead pine needles that carpeted the earth. This way and that they wove, in and out of trees, howling for the remainder of their hunting party to join them.

The great gates opened as they approached, everyone slowing to a canter once passing through them. Jon turned back to his true form as soon as he entered the courtyard. His eyes found hers with a glare. "Get to your chambers" he barked, his nostrils flaring as he stood there naked, muddy and panting. "There's others on our land!" he yelled to anyone who was around to listen, "If they have not presented themselves to me within the hour, I shall return to the Wolfswood with a pack of force. Do you understand me?!" he bellowed to the courtyard before whirling round on Sansa, _"GET TO YOUR CHAMBERS!"_ he roared. Sansa could still feel the vibrations from her mate's fear as she bolted into the keep, noticing how a few men would turn her way as she passed them.

 _They can smell my heat,_ she whimpered.

Sansa didn't bother to dress once she was back in her room and had returned to her human form. She braced her dirty palms on the window as she watched Jon down in the courtyard. He had borrowed a cloak from someone and was storming here and there giving orders for all gates to be watched and any able bodied fighters to be readied. Sansa twisted her body at the sight of him, squeezing her thighs together at the drifts of his voice meeting her ears through the pane of glass. She feared for him, she knew his preparations were necessary, and yet she needed him there with her to quench the thirst beneath her skin. As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned to look up at her window as he was in the middle of talking with some of the menfolk. His upper lip curled into what looked like a snarl before she watched him stride towards the castle building. She didn't have to wait long for him to burst through her chamber door.

"What the fuck was that, Sansa?!" he boomed, slamming the door shut behind him making her jump out of her skin. Sasna started to rush towards him but halted with a sharp breath when she saw the anger etched into his features.

"Jon-"

"You're in heat!" he accused.

Sansa screwed her eyes closed. She needed him to take her, to sooth the ache between her thighs and the alien sensation all over her body before she would start to claw away her own skin. She didn't need _this_ , but she couldn't deny his pain either. It confused them both. "Jon-" she sobbed, her body trembling before him. 

He stalked forward, taking careful steps as he circled her where she stood frozen in place, shudders falling down her spine. Tighter and tighter his circle got as he scented all around her. Finally he nosed at Sansa's temple making her push into the contact with a mewl of need. He continued taking in lungfuls of her - the side of her face, her neck, under her jaw, her collarbone. Once he straightened back up, Sasna saw that his pupils were blown wide with dark, dangerous lust as she felt her own slick begin to coat her inner thighs. 

"Why are you in heat?" he demanded. "We are mated, are we not? Am I not your alpha?"

"You are!"

"Then why are you affected?"

"I don't know!" Sansa cried, "I've...I've never been in such close proximity to two alphas before, I-"

Jon moved so quickly, she had not seen him reach around her head for a fistful of the hair at the nape of her neck until she felt him give a yank, tilting her jaw up to expose her neck to him. "You are _mine_ , aren't you Sansa?" he growled into the creamy vulnerable flesh of her throat before cupping her bare mound and pushing two fingers into her cunt. "You're not _this_ wet for _him_ , are you?"

"You," Sansa whimpered, "it's all for you, Jon. No one else."

He released his grip in her hair so that she could look him in the eye. He searched her face for any falsity and seemed satisfied that there was none before searing her lips with a bruising kiss. Sansa felt his hard naked length poke at her abdomen through the cloak he wore as he continued to play with her cunny.

"Are you in need of me, wife?" Jon murmured against her lips. Sansa let out a moan of approval before a horn blasted from outside.

Jon cursed and peeled himself away from her. She watched him stride over to the window as she stood there panting. He cursed again. "He has come with his pack," Jon declared before turning back to her and cupping her face in his hot hands. "Stay here," he said firmly, staring into her lust hazed eyes, "bar the door after I leave and do not come out." He kissed her again, with more tenderness this time as Sansa felt like she had melted in his grasp. "I love you" Jon whispered before placing a fragile press of lips to her forehead. And then he was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not MUCH has happened, but this felt like a good place to end the chapter before launching into Jon's POV in the next.
> 
> Just a reminder: USUALLY mated females do not go in to heat again in this universe.


	3. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm finding that keeping the chapters short is helping with momentum! Hope you're not too disappointed!

Jon paused in the hall outside Sansa’s bedchamber door, listening to her bar it, as he had asked. Taking a steadying breath or two, he managed to make his feet move along the ancient stone flagged floors to his now rarely used room. _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa_ his mind whirred as he hastily shoved his legs through the rough spun breeches and threw an undershirt over his head. _Mate, claim, fuck,_ the beast inside him roared.

Closing his eyes, Jon brought his hand to his nose and took in a deep drag of her scent before licking along his fingers to chase away any traces of her. He groaned at the taste. Sansa tasted divine to him anytime, but this reminded him of her in her first heat; heady, rich, sweet and bursting to life on his tongue. And then came the sting that had gut him like an animal being slaughtered. He had felt betrayed by this second heat, by this impossibility, by her body that he had found pleasure, and comfort, and love in. _Why was this happening?_

He could not afford to figure it out now. No matter how his body yearned to storm back into her bedchamber and have her, claim her all over again. He willed the hardness in his breeches to abate without success as he raged through the castle, his boots eating up long strides. He’d never felt like this before; never felt _this_ need coursing through his veins. _Bloodlust,_ he realised at the arousing thought of wrapping his jaws around the other alpha’s throat, _it’s bloodlust._ The urge to protect the pack, to protect his Sansa was strong. It prickled his skin and churned his stomach. He would not be at rest until this new threat was gone.

 _He wants Sansa,_ Jon’s errant mind whispered, _he want’s my mate._ Of course, that may not be true – although the most likely alternative was not any more palatable. _If it’s a take over he wants, he’ll have a hard time getting it,_ Jon reassured himself through his fear. The Winterfell pack had never fallen susceptible to a take over since the very first foundation stone of the castle was laid out. Occasionally, two alphas would present simultaneously, but these occurrences were usually put to rest at a gathering where it would be decided which of the alphas would stay, and which would be given new lands to start a branch pack. In any case, Jon had not heard of any other northman presenting, and this other wolf had not smelt of the north. He had smelt of saplings and lush fertile earth, nothing like the heady pines and fresh northern snows that he’d learnt of his people.

Jon strode out into the courtyard and began to bark orders at the men who were waiting. “Aldwin! Marcyn! Deston!” he yelled as he pointed to each of his men in turn, “Dallar! Orwan! Eddin! With me!”

Jon was pleased to note that many of his stronger pack members were amongst those ready to approach the other alpha at their gates. The air was alight with tension and Jon tried to clear his mind of it, even though he felt like a nocked bow, ready to let fly a whole host of arrows. He sought out Jory Cassel before he would leave the gates of his home. “Take some men,” he barked to the older man, “and station them at either end of the bedchamber corridor. Do not let anyone get close to Sansa’s door.” Jory nodded at his instructions and made to leave. Jon placed a hand on the man’s arm to stay him, bowing his head and dropping his voice to a murmur, “not even any of our own men,” he urged, holding Jory’s gaze to make sure he understood.

“Consider it done.”

Jon gathered his men and turned to give his final orders. “Keep watch,” he called up to the barracks before addressing the rest of the courtyard. “There is another alpha at our gates-“ his voice resounded off of the stone walls and his declaration was met with a murmuring of agitation amongst the crowd, “-I am to meet with him and see his intensions. Everyone is to remain within the walls. Please,” he implored, “take children to the Great Hall. Winterfell has never seen a takeover-“ with that, a palpable taste of panic simmered in the air, “Winterfell has _never_ seen a takeover,” he repeated, glancing up to Sansa’s window where he saw her with her palms pressed against the glass, watching him with fear on her face, “and I do not intend for it to see one today.”

“Open the gates,” he bellowed, and with that, he strode out with his men.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a group of eight men in all, waiting on the grassy marshes at what Jon conceded was a respectable distance from the castle walls. They were grouped together at first, seemingly with their heads bowed, discussing something. But once the great gates opened and Jon, with his men began to stride towards them, the small pack shifted. Their alpha was centred and took a few paces towards Jon’s approaching party before stopping. The others spaced themselves out, making Jon’s nerves twitch. _Kill, kill, kill,_ the beast inside him roared. _If you take him by surprise, it’ll all be over._

As they neared, Jon took a few additional steps ahead of his men, mirroring the other alpha. He noticed that the man was much taller than him, broader in the shoulders too. But Jon was quick, and he suspected that this alpha could be caught unawares. He continued silently eyeing the man up before addressing him.

“You are on my pack’s land,” he stated plainly.

“Yes,” the man nodded, his jaw tensing as he eyed Jon’s receiving party.

“ _Why_ are you on my pack’s land?” Jon growled.              

“We sent a raven.”

“None was received.”

The other alpha raised his brows and turned to glance at a portly man who fumbled with a leather satchel. He nervously pulled out a scroll and unrolled it. “Yes! A-addressed to Lord S-Stark.”

“Lord Stark is not here and is no longer this pack’s alpha. Your raven should have been addressed to myself, Jon Snow. In any case, our Maester would have received your words and relayed them to me…You should have awaited an invitation.”

The flustered rotund man promptly turned a blotchy shade of red and shook his head profusely as he started spluttering. “I thought…I checked…err…” he mumbled as his hands rummaged around in the satchel. The alpha turned his head and sharply held up a hand, cutting off the other’s fumbling.

“It does not matter, Sam” he barked before setting his eyes back on Jon. “My apologies,” he nodded. “This must seem rather unusual.”

“Unusual is one way to describe it,” Jon snarled, “disrespectful is another.” The other alpha simply bowed his head in acceptance of Jon’s statement. “I ask you to _leave._ ”

The alpha bobbed his head up and down to himself, as if assessing Jon’s request. “You do not wish to know who it is you are sending away?”

Jon’s upper lip curled into a sneer as he felt his heart beat like a war drum. _If you mean to toy with me, I shall snap your neck._ His hands flexed into fists at his sides as he thought of all those souls he was responsible for encompassed in the walls behind him. _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,_ his heart chanted like a battle-cry. _You WILL NOT have her._

“My name is Dickon Tarly,” the alpha answered the unasked question, “I came here to-“

“I have no cares for why you are here, _Dickon Tarly,”_ Jon barked. He could sense his pack members shift uneasily in formation behind him. He could taste the bloodlust stirring in them as well. _They will protect the pack with me,_ he thought. “My only concern is that you leave _. Now_.”

Dickon glanced back at the man named Sam and let out a frustrated huff. Sam took a few steps forward to address Jon.

“P-please accept my deepest apologies, Lord Jon.”

“I am no Lord!” Jon snapped.

“Oh…err…p-please accept them all the same. It was n-not my brother’s fault that the raven with the relevant information did not reach you, it was, well, a bit of an oversight on my part really, I suppose. I should have-“

“Sam!” Dickon hissed.

“Sorry! Sorry!...” the large man closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, “m-my brother is travelling the packs to find his mate. We have come here, to the ancient Winterfell pack in order seek her out.”

Jon furrowed his brow at this highly unorthodox practice. He turned his head to catch the confused eyes of his fellow northmen as they all glanced at one another. “That is not how things are done,” he stated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“It-it is rather unheard of, yes,” Sam conceded, “but what with Dickon having been presented as our alpha for over two years now, we are getting quite…well, ‘desperate’ might be a way to describe it,” he laughed nervously, his chuckle dying in his throat as he received a glare from his alpha. Sam retreated a few steps to resume his previous position.

“The packs of Westeros have ceased with sending their females to me to scent” Dickon explained with a tick at his jaw. “This may seem an unconventional method, but I am in need of a mate.” He took two steps forward but halted as soon as Jon’s guttural growl reached his ears. Dickon stared him down before yielding under Jon’s murderous glower and flared nostrils. He nodded that Jon’s warning was understood. “Please,” he said in a more hushed tone to the ground at Jon’s boots, “if I do not find her, I risk testing the loyalty of my pack,” he raised his sight and looked Jon in the eye, imploring him to understand, “nobody wants an unpaired alpha leading them. And no alpha could bare going unpaired.”

For quite some time, all Jon did was bounce Dickon’s words around in his skull as he continued to stare at the man in question. He inhaled deeply before finally speaking. “I must think on it,” he declared, “I shall discuss with my pack. You should return at noon tomorrow to hear my decision.” Dickon let out the breath he had been holding “ _If_ ,” Jon continued, “I decide to allow you to scent my pack’s females, you must understand that _all_ women within that castle are under my protection, and as such, _should_ you find your mate within my walls, she is under no obligation to return with you to your own pack.”

“But if she is my-“

“ _That_ is the basis of my conditions Dickon Tarly. Accept them, or do not. One path will turn you back home faster than the other.”

Dickon huffed defeatedly through his nose. “I accept your terms, Jon Snow.”

“Return tomorrow for my decision.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Reclaiming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic just keeps getting longer and longer!

Jon’s mind whirred as he strode back to the castle. He thanked the Old Gods that the interloping alpha did not wish for a takeover. _Or so he says,_ the beast inside him murmured, stoking the fires of his bloodlust. The meeting between them had been more than difficult for Jon. More than once, he had had to remind himself to keep his urges at bay - more than once, he had had to force away mental images of his hands wrapped around Dickon Tarly’s throat. _Threat_ , the beast roared, _he is a threat. He wants to take your mate._

“What shall you do?” Orwan asked as he hurried to keep up with Jon’s pace.

“Gather the pack this evening,” Jon grunted. “We have much to discuss.”

As his mind was picking away at various thorns; weighing his options and predicting outcomes, he caught a whiff of pure enchantment on the air. Jon stopped in his tracks, around twenty paces away from the gates and took a large drag of air through his nose. His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a small groan at the scent, _her scent._

His men halted beside him. “Do you smell that?” Dallar asked, “the women are in heat.” They all stopped to sniff the air before turning to look at the small Tarly pack. “Must be some alpha to affect them so strongly,” he commented.

Jon couldn’t detect any hint of the other women about the castle, he was consumed with the rich essence of Sansa; an aroma so decadent he could distinguish each of its origins. The spicy floral fragrance hinted at the fire of her hair, the touch of peppery sweetness was drawn directly from the soft skin at the swell of her breasts – Jon knows the scent well, he is an intimate acquaintance of the taste too. And then, chasing after the other scents was the tangy note of her arousal. Images of his wife laid out with her thighs splayed indecently, inviting him in to sate his hunger on her cunt flashed through Jon’s mind and he could not have stopped his feet from moving if he had tried. _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,_ his beast sang as his boots clicked hastily along the cobbles. He distantly recognised his men calling after him, but he was of one mind and could not have room to spare them in it.

Jon was fully hard by the time he reached the middle of the courtyard and threw a heated glance up at Sansa’s window. She was there, tracking his every move with eyes that begged him. She stood and dropped the woollen blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders for modesty. Sansa pushed her naked and dirty breasts against the small diamond shaped panes of glass held together with black iron glazing bars, making Jon’s mouth water. He quickened his pace, nearly knocking over several people on his way.

Following her tantalizing scent, Jon found himself bounding up the stairwell, eating up the distance that stood between him and his mate. “Return to your duties!” he bellowed at the men who were guarding either end of the corridor.

“The females-“ one of them started before being grabbed roughly around the collar.

“ _Return to your duties!”_ Jon roared, shoving the man away and storming towards his wife’s bedchamber.

“What happened?” Sansa asked as soon as he step foot inside her room. Jon did not answer, and nor did he allow any further words to spill from her lips as he crashed into her with a bruising and hungry kiss. A deep groan rumbled in his throat as his hands pulled her close and slid down her back like his tongue had slid into her mouth. He took the cheeks of her rear in his hands and squeezed them roughly, tugging her more tightly to him and grinding his hardness against her.

“You left,” Sansa gasped once he’d released her mouth and had begun licking greedily under her jaw. Jon let a low rumble echo in his chest in response; he _had_ left _,_ but the cause was foggy in his mind as Sansa hitched a long leg over his hip and began rubbing her core against his breeches.

Jon felt surrounded by her, blanketed in her scent and happily drowning in it. He knew there was a reason he’d left her here before – _an important one._ But all that there was, was Sansa’s fevered skin, Sansa’s silky hair, Sansa’s little gasps, Sansa’s full breasts and the curve of her hips, and Sansa’s cunt, hot and wet and calling him to take her. He spun her around brusquely, bending her over to brace on the deep-set windowsill. That was when he remembered.

Off in the distance through the window panes, Jon caught sight of the Tarly pack’s retreating forms. He untied his breeches, shoving them down his thighs, a gruff noise rumbled in his throat when he swiftly pushed inside his wife, gripping onto her hips with rough and dirty hands. Sansa mewled at the intrusion, her spine dipping to tilt her pelvis in encouragement.

“I left because _he_ wants you,” Jon snarled as he began the slap of skin upon skin, “and I can’t let that happen.”

Sansa bowed her head before the window, her copper hair, still tangled and soiled from the hunt, jostling rhythmically. “Who?” she gasped on a moan, her lust addled mind struggling to pierce through to anything that wasn’t _them_.

Leaning over her without halting his thrusts, Jon slid his hand around her hip and up through the valley of her breasts. He reached up to cup under Sansa’s jaw, tilting her face to look out the window to the horizon. “Him,” he rasped into her shoulder, “he can’t have you. Nobody can. You’re mine.”

 _Mine, mine, mine,_ Jon’s wolf salivated ravenously, the insatiable beast delighting in claiming her. His hand slipped down from her jaw to wrap around her neck as he continued to rut into her again and again.

“Jon,” Sansa keened, letting her head fall forward again before Jon urged her to keep looking out of the window – to keep watching the other alpha.

“He’s not getting anywhere near you,” he declared before quickening his pace and grunting into her shoulder.

With one hand filthy from forest earth grasping Sansa’s breast, and the other holding her throat, Jon roared his release, which, in turn, seemed to set off the fluttering of Sansa’s own. They sagged against the sill together, uncaring as to whether the whole of their pack had viewed them from down below in the courtyard.

“What…What did he want?” Sansa panted, her mind now a little clearer after their coupling it seemed.

Jon held her to him and kissed the top of her head, nosing at her hair a little and experiencing a rush from the aroma. He relayed what had occurred at the meeting between the alphas before regretfully peeling himself away from her and pulling up his breeches.

“Shall I come to the gathering?” Sansa asked, still sat on the cold stone floor, watching him.

Jon shook his head as he finished seeing to his clothing. “No, my love. You shall stay here.”

“But-“

Jon crouched down to his haunches and picked up the discarded woollen blanket. “You are in heat, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping her around the shoulders. “You are claimed…and married…and yet you are in heat. I don’t know why this has happened, but I should like it to pass quickly and unnoticed if at all possible.”

Sansa’s gaze dropped. “I’m sorry, Jon,” she whispered.

He lifted her chin with his forefinger and forced a smile upon his face for his wife’s sake. “It is not your fault, Sansa. None of this is.” Jon’s jaw ticked as he remembered precisely whose feet he would lay the blame at. _Threat, threat, threat_ , came the warning in his heart. “I shall send Gloria up to keep you company with your evening moon tea,” he nodded, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was high in the sky the next day, and yet Winterfell’s Great Hall felt cold and gloomy under the raftered ceiling and surrounded in icy stone. He stood behind the high table and banged his empty pewter tankard upon the hard wood beneath it a few times to quieten his people. “I want to thank you for allowing this,” he addressed the gathering of women in a booming voice that echoed back to him. “And I want to repeat the terms that Lord Tarly has agreed to; none of you are under any duress to leave the Winterfell pack should you indeed turn out to be Lord Tarly’s mate.” He searched the faces of the women earnestly, looking into the eyes of Arlenna, a young unmarried washer woman, and Elyse, a girl who can be no older than ten-and-six. “You are my pack,” he affirmed assuredly, “and as such are under my protection. No one will be leaving against their own wishes.”

The women nodded at Jon’s declaration as he sat back down, turning to each other to continue their murmuring conversations _. No one will be leaving against their own wishes,_ his own words bounded back to him, _but what if she wishes to leave?_ He clenched his jaw and tampered down that thought by refilling his cup and taking a gulp of ale, swilling the liquid around his mouth where he still had the taste of Sansa from not more than a few minutes ago. Himself and his wife had been insatiable since he’d returned from the council gathering last night, claiming each other all through the hours, sometimes roughly, other times languidly. He’d stayed with her in her bed for as long as he possibly could, before he was needed to receive the Tarly pack. And so, he had left her with her handmaid to bathe – even though he could tell by the longing look in her eye that she would have had him again so soon.

Jon sucked in the dusty air through his nose, the room was rife with the scent of the females’ heat, but none were so sweet as his Sansa. After it had been decided to allow Lord Tarly within the walls today, the word had been spread that unpaired maids should gather in the hall. They had received a group of around 23 women in all, but Jon knew there were others not present. He prickled in his seat, liking nothing better than to have this whole affair finished with in one scenting. But alas, a castle cannot run without its women and Winterfell would not wait for some southern alpha’s needs.

The walls were lined with northmen, all rankled by the prospect of another alpha setting foot inside the Great Hall. The air tasted of apprehension; sharp and bitter. Jon had sent some of his men to meet with Dickon Tarly’s pack and escort them inside. And now they waited.

 

 

 

 


	5. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I FINISHED A THING!!!!!!!
> 
> I really hope that you guys enjoy the conclusion! *clicks 'post', sits back and bites nails nervously!*
> 
> Also, if you've enjoyed this second part to Wolves of Winterfell at all, then y'all need to point your thanks towards Tigerlily17 because if she had not come to me with suggestions on how I could continue, I would not have picked it back up again!

The ancient thick oak door creaked open and in walked two of Jon’s men, followed by Dickon and his brother Sam. Three more northmen pulled up the rear, effectively flanking the Tarly guests. The click of their boots on the stone flagged floor sounding like the ticking away of precious time.

Dickon’s eyes swooped the gathering of women before he bowed his head at Jon, sat at the centre of the high table. “Please accept my gratitude for hosting me.”

Jon only acknowledged his thanks with a stiff nod. The presence of another alpha feeling like a horrific intrusion, even if Jon’s consent had been granted. He took a gulp of ale from his tankard and contemplated refusing to offer his guests any refreshment.

“Would my Lord care for some ale?” came the clear high voice of one of the more forward of Winterfell’s serving girls. She rushed forth with a pewter jug and cup in hand, smiling up coquettishly at Dickon as she filled the cup he now held.

Jon repressed the urge to roll his eyes and supposed it was the hospitable thing to have done. He watched the maid dip into a low curtsy and giggle up at Dickon as he not-so-subtly sniffed at the air before thanking her.

Sam looked as though he were about to accept a drink when the maid scurried away, having completely ignored the larger fellow. Jon smirked and stood, pouring some ale into a cup on the high table and offering it to the Tarly brother who received it gratefully.

Jon caught Dickon’s eye and raised his brows, silently asking whether the scent of the maid had stirred him. Lord Tarly only frowned with a shake of his head.

“If the ladies could form some sort of order please,” Jon called out before seating himself back down and grabbing up his tankard once more. “I’d like to have this done and over with rather swiftly.”

Dickon gave him a nod of understanding. Likely he too, was not comfortable in the presence of another alpha. However, this was Jon’s territory, Jon’s pack, and the urge to run the Tarly Lord out of it was clawing up his insides and wriggling beneath his skin.

One-by-one, the womenfolk approached the visiting alpha. And one-by-one he had smiled and shook his head.

“Did Lady Sansa not want to come and watch over the proceedings today?” Maester Luwin had whispered in Jon’s ear as he had watched it all unfold with a tense jaw.

“She is unwell,” he answered instinctively, internally chastising himself after realizing exactly who it was he’d used the excuse on.

“I see, will she need me to-“

“No…No, thank you, Maester Luwin. It is just fatigue. All Lady Sansa is in need of is rest.”

_‘Tis partly true, we were fucking for more than half the night._

“Very well,” Luwin bowed and then made to return to his position at the wall until Jon raised his hand to stay him.

“She will be in need of more moon tea” he said in a hushed tone.

Much to Jon’s aggravation, none of the women who had gathered there that afternoon had proven to be Dickon’s mate.

“We will have a few others for you to scent tomorrow, Dickon Tarly,” Jon declared with a clenched fist atop the table. “However, this shall be the last invitation you shall receive from Winterfell.”

Dickon took in a breath, puffing up his chest. “She is here, I can smell her,” he declared in a voice that echoed about the hall.

Jon’s teeth ground together. “And yet, you did not scent her today,” he sneered. “We will have more womenfolk for you to sniff at on the morrow _my lord_.”

“All of the remaining females?”

Jon stared heatedly at the other alpha, allowing the discomfort to swill and flow for a few further voiceless moments. All eyes were on him, and his were on the man that stood before him. “Have you considered that mayhaps she does not want to be found?” he asked, forcing a tight fleeting smile to touch his lips before they disappeared behind his tankard. Jon took a slurp of ale before continuing, “ _mayhaps_ she is happy here, at the Winterfell pack?”

“I would give her a good home at Horn Hill. She’ll want for nothing,” came Dickon’s retort.

Jon’s lips twitched in annoyance and his fingers began to tap menacingly upon the table as if he were contemplating Lord Tarly’s fate. His eyes flickered to the side of the room; there were but two of the visiting party, easy to overpower with the numbers of northmen lining the hall – some of the womenfolk were known to hold their own too. They could easily get the better of them.

_And then what, Jon? Kill a guest?_

_Kill a threat,_ his beast snarled in his chest, _a threat to Sansa._

“We will have more unpaired females for you to scent tomorrow Lord Tarly,” Jon said with finality, thudding his cup down on the table. Dickon bowed, his brother mimicking him, if somewhat more clumsily before both men left the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had left orders with his men before he found himself fleeing the hall. His boots carried him swiftly through corridors and up winding stone staircases, his heart beat out a chorus of _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,_ until he finally burst through his wife’s chamber door. He’s not quite sure why panic was making a home under his ribs – he’s almost convinced he’s touching upon insanity, for all he can smell is the intoxicating aroma of his wife all around the castle, and yet he half expected her to be gone from it – stolen away while he was not looking.

Sansa had been sat at her vanity as Gloria was fussing with her hair. As soon as she caught a glimpse of Jon in the reflective glass of the mirror, she stood and turned abruptly, pins and scraps of silk ribbon falling to the floor where she had been holding them for her maid.

“Please leave, Gloria,” she gasped, her chest rising and falling as if she were finding it hard to breathe. Her eyes saw nothing but him and he felt similarly so.

“But, my Lady, your ha-“

“Leave us!” Jon growled, making the maid jump in her skin. He sensed, rather than watched his wife’s maid gather her things and bustle her way out of her Lady’s chambers. The door barely clicked shut before they were on each other, moaning into one another’s mouths.

“I ache,” Sansa whined, rubbing her cheek against Jon as he nipped beneath her jaw, “I ache all over.”

Jon tugged at her shift, a discontented rumble emanating from his chest when the material would not give way. He tugged again, this time ripping the fabric and baring one of her breasts. “Are you unwell?” he asked the hard peak of her dusky pink nipple before enveloping it into his mouth, suckling and lashing it with his tongue.

“Ohhh,” Sansa moaned. “N-no…I just need you, Jon. Only you.” She slid her fingers through his hair, holding him to her breast before she roughly tugged him off it. “You left me again,” she accused with lusty eyes, “why did you do that?”

 _Why had he done that?_ She made it difficult for him to think when they were like this together. He didn’t _want_ to think anyhow. He wanted to kiss, and lick, and nibble, and suck, and caress, and thrust, and fuck. _Why_ had he left her? It had only been for a while, and yet, he could fathom no good reason for doing so.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, dragging his lips back to hers.

Jon curled his hands around her shoulders to urge her back a little. Something about this wasn’t right. “What hurts? Why are you in pain, my love?”

“I need you,” Sansa answered simply, lunging forward to wrap herself around him again, claiming his mouth with her own once more. One of her hands slipped _down, down, down_ until she cupped the hardness in his breeches making Jon suck in a breath over his teeth. “I need _this_.”

“Then you shall have it,” he said as he walked her backwards towards her bed.

“Quickly,” Sansa urged, her hands becoming frantic as she sat before him on the bed, helping him to unlace his breeches, “quickly…I need you…I need-…please, Jon, it hurts.”

Jon shook his head. _It hurts?_ He was finding it difficult to string together any form of thought when the sight that was before him was his wife hurriedly ridding herself of her smallclothes. _Had she been in pain in her first heat?_

“I need you,” she repeated, splaying her legs obscenely, opening herself up to him. “Please, Jon.”

Jon climbed on top of her, aligning himself between her thighs before thrusting sharply. They both hissed in pleasure and all Jon had room for in his thoughts was _her_ , and how this was where he was meant to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa’s urgency and need did not subside through the night. She had been ravenous for him and he for her. Something about her scent had driven him to insanity to the point where Jon was certain he would collapse from exertion, only to find himself pounding into her with more fervor.

Echoes of her cries followed him the following morning – _Jon, please! Fuck me! Fill me! Harder! More! I need you! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!_

Jon swallowed down the memories uncomfortably with a gulp. His throat felt scratchy and his limbs ached, both from now being parted from his beloved and from the activities of the night. He forced himself to keep moved, keep striding towards the Great Hall. The sooner this Tarly business was done, the better.

He swept through the heavy door, his heart sinking at the sight of what could be no more than seven maids awaiting to be scented. _I am under no obligation to help him find his mate,_ Jon thought reassuringly. _If she is not in this very room today, then so be it._ Jon thanked the women for taking the time to attend before sitting heavily in his seat to stew in his own thoughts as they awaited the arrival of Lord Tarly. _He thinks she is here. He can smell her._ Memories of Dickon’s words echoed in his skull, chipping away at his self-assurance. _He wants her. It’s Sansa’s scent he fancies,_ the beast whispered behind his ear, tickling his lobe with a trickle of fear.

A sudden crash as a door swung open, followed by the clatter of tin hitting the stone floors brought Jon’s mind hurtling back to the here and now. “He wasn’t there!” a northmen puffed as he skid to a halt before Jon’s rising figure. “His pack was there…awaiting us on the marshlands…but the alpha…he was nowhere to be seen! His men claim they know nothing of it!”

The womenfolk began to murmur amongst themselves as all the men in the hall looked to Jon. His lip curled into a snarl and he had to force himself not to shift into the raging beast inside of him. _He is here,_ he thought with certainty. _He is here,_ he sniffed the air. His wolf form would have known. The beast would have had Tarly’s throat ripped from his body by now. “Search the castle!” he roared, making to join the hunt. “Leave no space unchecked! Find him! _NOW!”_

Jon barked directions to his men, their boots clipping this way and that as they scoured the castle and keep as he allowed his own feet to sweep him away to where his deepest fears began at the root.

 _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,_ his pulse sang as the seed of panic began to bloom in his chest. A twisting corrupt vine of terror wrapping around his bones and thorns of rage pricking at his organs.

 _You should not have allowed this to happen_ , his beast chastised him. _He will have her and_ _all will be lost. ALL._

Sansa’s scent grew in intensity, a thick soup of lusty fragrances invading his nostrils, carrying him through the castle until it felt as though he were flying to her rather than using his own feet.

As Jon finally neared her chamber door, one of those thorns within him pierced through his heart, a gush of hot terror leaked into his soul. It was left wide open and he smelt the presence of another alpha.

“No, no!” He heard his mate whine from inside, “this is wrong. You’re wrong!”

  
“It’s you...I think! I can smell you all around this place!” came Dickon’s deeper voice.

  
“I want Jon! Where is Jon?! It hurts! Oh Gods! It hurts! I need Jon! _Please!_ ”

He rounded the corner and a haze of nothing but blood red descended upon his vision. There, against the wall, was his mate - _his Sansa_ \- near sobbing in nothing but her shift. She was pinned in place by Dickon who was leaning down to scent her, his nose disappearing into the silky strands of fragrant copper.

Jon wanted to scream. He wanted to yell, and holler, and shake the other alpha with a roaring threat of death. But his tongue was too thick in his mouth and his boots had already taken him half way across the large room before the noise left him. It was not words that burst forth, but a deep guttural growl that shook his own ribs. He was primal. He was savage. He’s sure his teeth had begun to extend to sharp points much like they do when he shifts to his wolf form. He could already taste the sticky blood in his jaws.

Jon grabbed a hold of Dickon roughly by the back of his doublet and wrenched him away from his wife, propelling him into the centre of the room. He heard Sansa gasp and call out his name.

No matter. His blood burned in his own veins, scorching his insides, his rage bursting aflame as he launched himself at Dickon.

The other alpha was much taller, to be sure, and for all his muscle he fell back easily at being caught unawares. Dickon snarled up at Jon as he pinned him to the stone floor but soon had the wind knocked out of him by a swift powerful blow to his jaw. Jon felt a crunch under his fist and heard a scream come from behind him.

 _Kill, kill, kill,_ the beast roared and goaded. _He had your mate. He wants to take her. He will. He will. He will._

Dickon’s hands scrambled to take purchase on the front of Jon’s leather tunic as he continued to viciously knead his cheek, jaw and chin.

“Jon! Jon! Jon!” Sansa cried behind him. And then suddenly he was being lifted from the blood stained alpha, scrambling to resist - to be rid of this threat completely.

Someone’s voice pierced through the thrumming in his ears. “If you kill their alpha, you’ll have their whole pack at the gates, do you want to-“

 _“He wants Sansa!”_ Jon choked out before his eyes focused on exactly who it was he was speaking to. Maester Luwin’s concerned face swam before him and he distantly recognised two of his own men holding him back. “He won’t take her from me!”

Dickon spat and groaned as he rolled to his side, a splatter of blood decorating the stones. “She is my mate,” he declared hoarsely.

 _“She fucking well isn’t!”_ Jon bellowed, surging forward only to be held back.

Dickon looked up at him from where he’d sat up, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he implored, “but I think she is.”

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m Jon’s! He is my alpha!” Sansa sobbed.

Maester Luwin glanced from Lady Sansa to the man on the floor and back again. “You are in heat?” No one answered. “And her scent calls to you?” he asked Dickon.

“I think so...it’s hard to tell...I can smell so much of _him_ on her,” he threw a glance at Jon.

“She is _my_ wife!” Jon attempted to lunge once more.

A shrill scream suddenly rang through the air, ripping itself from Sansa’s lungs before she clutched her sides and collapsed. “It hurts! Oh Gods!” She wept and shivered in a curled up position on the floor.

Jon wrenched away from his men’s grasp and leapt to her side. “Sansa!” He knelt before her, both afraid to touch her and consumed with a need to scoop her up and hold her tight. The Maester knelt beside him, his brow furrowed. “She wasn’t like this in her first heat,” Jon explained before twisting to glare at Dickon, “What has he done?!”

Maester Luwin stroked away strands of sweat soaked hair from Sansa’s forehead, hushing away her whimpers. “Where is the pain, my Lady?” He asked, his tone calm and soothing. Sansa did not answer, her expression confused and pinched in agony. She shook her head. “Do you remember where you are?”

Jon’s head whipped up to throw a worried glance at the older man before Sansa shook her head as she continued to shiver.

“What do you remember, my Lady?” The Maester continued. Jon sensed Dickon begin to crawl towards where he held his wife. His head snapped to issue a warning rumble from his chest. Dickon paused reluctantly.

“Jon” Sansa answered.

“You remember Jon?”

“Jon.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“Jon. Just Jon.”

The Maester turned to Jon, “is she still taking moon tea?”

“Yes. W-we decided to wait until I’d been alpha for a while to start-“ Maester Luwin held up a hand, cutting of Jon from his babbling.

“She must stop immediately. I believe Lady Sansa is suffering from a Breeding Fever.”

Jon shook his head, letting the words settle on him like dust. That couldn’t be right? He’d heard of the condition, of course he had, but like many, he’d assumed it to be a fable - a piece of make-believe woven into their lore to explain away wanton females and women propping bastard children on their hips. _It’s not her fault,_ people would whisper about the unwed bakers daughter from Wintertown with a litter of her own welps at her feet, _she’s cursed with the Breeding Fever - cannot help her own desires._

“But that’s a myth. Surely?” A northman asked behind him.

The Maester shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. It is a very real condition. An extremely rare one, but very real.”

“Jon,” Sansa cried softly in his arms, screwing her eyes shut as she began shivering violently. “It hurts, Jon. Please!”

Jon pulled Sansa close, trying to calm her as he wrapped his arms around her trembling frame. Sansa’s hands scrambled over the front of his tunic before she pressed her face into the side of his neck. “How did this happen?” He asked.

“It would have started with some kind of physical or emotional trauma,” Luwin answered with a shake of his head.

“You!” Jon’s head snapped towards the other alpha on the floor, “you caused this!” Memories of the scent of Sansa’s fear from the hunt crept into his senses. He’d never seen such distress in her previous to that day when she’d skidded to a halt before another alpha. Jon brought his attention back to the Maester. “What will happen?”

“Well...I will administer some milk of the poppy for the pain. She will need to sleep for a few hours, but after that,” the greying man paused to let out a sigh, “...you have to put a babe in her, Jon.”

“And if I don’t?” Jon asked thickly.

The old man dragged a fond gaze over the length of Sansa. “If you do not, the pain will worsen. She will bear no longer than a full moon in this state...she will perish.”

Jon’s world centred in on the woman quivering in his arms. Her shift stuck to her body from the tide of sweat coating her skin. “Jon,” she sniffled.

“Sssh my love,” he murmured into her hair, beginning to rock her back and forth.

“It hurts so much!”

“I know. I know it does, Sansa” Jon whispered, stroking her hair. “It will be better soon. I promise.”

Jon swallowed down the taste of anger and panic as he urged Sansa to stand and make her way to the bed. He cared not for the others in the room at that time and would not be able to name them if he tried. The Maester had sent one of the northmen to retrieve his apothecary box – a small plain wooden chest that unlocked using a key that the old man kept with him always. Jon stroked Sansa’s hair and whispered promises into her ear as the Maester clinked at his little glass bottles and vials, eventually bringing some milk of the poppy, diluted in water, up to her lips.

“She’s not in heat?” Dickon suddenly said to himself as he stood at the foot of Sansa’s bed, staring at the woman who was drifting off to a place where pain would leave her. Jon prickled at the reminder of his presence. He shifted on his stool, giving the other alpha his back.

“No, my Lord,” Luwin answered.

“But…her hair…it smelt… _right._ ”

“Just her hair?”

“Well, yes…all I could smell elsewhere was… him.”

“She is not your mate,” Jon stated plainly, not turning away from Sansa and not ceasing his gentle strokes. “She is mine.”

There was a knock on the chamber door before a voice drifted through the thick wood. “My Lady?” Gloria called. Maester Luwin bustled over to open the door and Jon heard him murmuring something about fetching some cloth and fresh cool water to bring Sansa’s temperature down.

“Wait!” Dickon yelled just as the door began to creak shut. He strode over to the Maester and near enough shoved him out of his way. “Who’s there?” he yanked the door open wide and stood stock still in front of a wide-eyed Gloria.

Jon had been holding on to Sansa’s hand, periodically bringing it to his lips and swiping his thumb over her knuckles. He did, however, twist in his seat to observe the other alpha’s breathing become ragged, his shoulders tense. Gloria dropped the bundle of linens she was carrying.

A satisfied groan escaped Dickon’s throat after he’d scented the air around Gloria. He slowly leant closer, pressing his nose to the side of her face. Gloria’s eyes fluttered closed and her hands moved up to grab fistfuls of Dickon’s doublet, pulling him flush with her body. Their lips met greedily – Gloria’s neck straining upward to reach Dickon’s tall height. He wound his arms around her waist and lifted her up effortlessly before walking her out the doorway and pressing her against the wall in the corridor.  

“Well,” Luwin said, pushing the door closed behind them, “that solves that mystery.”

Jon turned is concern back to his sleeping wife. She had a serene smile upon her soft lips. “He could detect Gloria’s scent in her hair,” he deduced to himself with some relief.

**_3 Moons Later…_ **

Arya came trotting into the courtyard on her mare, eager to see Jon and tell him of all her experiences in King’s Landing. She leapt from the saddle and left her steed with a pat on the neck before handing her over to a stable boy. Bounding up the steps, she almost ran straight into her brother – _cousin now_. Jon laughed and held on to her shoulders to keep her upright.

“There are real-life _dragon skulls_ under the red keep, Jon! Some of them are _huge!”_

Jon beamed down at Arya, about to ask her more when the remainder of their party rode in.

“Arya!” Catelyn chastised, “you should not have ridden off like that! You’ll break your neck going at that speed.”

Jon shifted uneasily as he waited for his family to dismount and come to greet him.

“Still standing then?” Ned japed, inclining his head towards the castle with a smile as he pulled off his gloves.

“How were your travels?” Jon asked after embracing him with a pat on his back.

“Oh, pretty uneventful. I’m glad to be back. Where is San-“

“Mother! Father!” came Sansa’s sweet voice as she waddled out to the top of the steps. Jon jumped to be by her side, gliding a supportive hand around her back and holding on to one of hers. “Oh really, Jon!” she rolled her eyes, “I won’t fall down the steps! You needn’t hover around me every minute!”

Catelyn gasped. Ned was frozen to the spot. Robb entered the courtyard, still sat upon his horse who was walking at a leisurely pace beside that of a young lady.

“You’ve gotten fat,” Arya said.

Catelyn began to stammer out some words as her wide eyes homed in on Sansa’s round belly. “You’re…but…but we’ve only been gone for three moons! Sansa, you’re huge!”

Jon licked his lips nervously as he watched the expressions on his family’s faces. Robb came to stand beside his mother, his eyes also trained in on Sansa’s stomach.

“The Maester says it’s twins!” Sansa beamed excitedly, and Jon could not keep the wide grin from his lips any longer as he placed a hand on his wife’s belly.

Catelyn was the first to rush forward, wrapping her arms around her daughter as her eyes grew rapidly glassy with joyous tears. “Gods be good! Two babes!” she laughed into Sansa’s hair. Pulling back to give her daughter another smile, rubbing her hands affectionately up and down Sansa’s arms. “I’m so happy for you,” she said hoarsely before placing a hand on Jon’s forearm. “Both of you.”

“Thank you,” he choked out a bewildered response before Ned stepped up to shake his hand.

His uncle, whom he shall always regard as his father, moved to embrace his daughter, holding her as tight as he dared and murmuring low words of congratulations into her ear.

“Does this mean that you two are going to be fucking quiet now, or do I still have to move bedchambers?” Robb laughed before receiving an almighty whack on the arm from his mother.

 

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.....*peeks out from behind hands* I REALLY hope that you enjoyed that - please let me know!!
> 
> Also - yes, I did finish this fic with Sansa suffering from a condition that could only be cured with Jon's wang...what of it, hmmmm???

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah - so- fyi - Robbert has really mellowed in old age in this universe, so, with Ned's persuasion, he would no longer consider Jon a threat to his crown.
> 
> Also - all of Westeros is made up of packs - EVERYONE'S A FICKIN' WEREWOLF lol


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